


Gimmie Shelter

by Wayward_Artist



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Drunken Kissing, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut, One Shot, Sloppy Makeouts, baz is sober, but isn't plot specific, cute cute, set in the carry on world, simons drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayward_Artist/pseuds/Wayward_Artist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon stumbles in their room, drunk and clumsy. Baz-begrudgingly- takes care of him, insulting him the whole time. Fluffy and agnst-y as hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimmie Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> |||  
>  _Oh, a **storm** is threat'ning_  
>  _My very life today_  
>  _If I don't get some **shelter**_  
>  _Oh yeah, I'm gonna **fade away**_  
>  -  
>  _**War** , children, it's just a shot away_  
>  _It's just a shot away_  
>  _War, **children** , it's just a shot away_  
>  _It's just a **shot away**_  
>  -  
>  _Ooh, see the **fire** is sweepin'_  
>  _Our very street today_  
>  _Burns like a red coal carpet_  
>  _Mad bull lost it's way_  
>  |||  
> Simon was a fire, taking refuge in a storm.  
> Baz was a storm, playing with fire.  
> |||

Baz smelled Simon before he reached the top of the stairs, it was that bad. He reeked of alcohol, smoke, and sweat. Baz wrinkled his nose as the door crashed open, and Simon stumbled in. He was a mess. 

Simon took a step, and fell over. His shoes were damp from the rain, he was wearing a jacket that wasn’t his (not that Baz knew his wardrobe, but when you live with someone for that many years, you know they’d never willingly wear a denim coat) and his curls were sticking to his forehead. 

“Alright there, Snow?” Baz asked lightly. He flicked on his lamp, and Simon cringed. 

“Shut up.” Simon whispered, groaning. He was on his back, staring at the ceiling. He lifted his hand up, pointing, before letting it drop. Baz could practically feel how drunk he was. He was sure if getting second hand drunk was a thing, he’d be second hand wasted.

“Well,” Baz said, “this has been a truly thrilling conversation. However, I’m going to bed. If you could kindly keep to your side of the room, that would be appreciated considering you smell like a shitter.”

Simon grunted, and Baz smirked. He rolled over to face the wall, and closed his eyes. But, of course, he wasn’t lucky enough to have peace and quiet. 

Simon getting ready while sober was fairly loud. He tried to be quiet, but he was clumsy in general. And on days where he was mad at Baz (almost every day), he didn’t even bother keeping it down. Drunk Simon was somehow worse. 

Baz growled as he heard a crash in the bathroom, and threw his covers off. He had only been laying down for 10 minutes. He told himself he was checking on Simon to ensure to bathroom wasn’t totalled. Not because he liked him, or anything. Obviously. 

When Baz opened the door, he felt sad to realize he had, in fact, seen worse. Although Simon was a mess, he had seen his Aunt Fiona completely smashed before which was way worse- but it was a shock to see Simon in that state.

“Jesus, Snow,” He muttered. Simon was on the floor using the denim jacket as a pillow. His sweat stained shirt was off, and vomit was dripping from the toilet seat. Baz tried not to breathe too deeply - the only reason he didn’t vomit was from having to suck the blood of rats for a fair amount of his life. He considered leaving the mess for Bunce or Wellbelove to clean up. But he was sure they’d never get the smell out. 

He used a cleaning spell to spell away the sick, and then pushed Simon to his side, so he wouldn’t choke if he threw up again. That would be a headline. The Chosen One Tragically Chokes on His Own Sick.

Whenever Aunt Fiona got drunk, he’d usually just put her to bed, and set a glass of water on the nightstand. Sometimes he left a breakfast in the fridge for the next morning. He wasn’t really sure what to do with Simon, though. 

He almost looked like he was sleeping, his arms curled around the jacket. His mouth was open slightly, and Baz grimaced. His breath was horrid. 

“You’re not going to vomit again, are you?” Baz asked out loud. He wasn’t even sure how conscious Simon was. 

Simon shook his head, a small and slow movement.

“Well, look at you go,” Baz mumbled. 

He carefully pulled Simon up by his biceps (and did not think about how fit he was), then passed him a towel and a glass of water. Simon’s hands were shaky, so Baz didn’t let go of the glass as Simin drank. He sighed, and wondered how exactly he had ended up taking care of a drunk Simon Snow. 

Simon wiped up his face, and Baz used another spell to clean his mouth. He had learned a lot of ‘post night drinking’ spells between Fiona and his friends. They came in handy. 

“Alright,” Baz said, crouching in front of Simon, “Time for the great Chosen One to take on standing up.”

Simon glared at him, but used Baz’s shoulders to pull himself up. Simon’s head rested on his shoulder, and his hands gripped Baz’s shirt like he was going to pass out. Which he might. 

Baz tried not to think about how warm Simon was, and how it almost burnt his freezing skin. He helped him walk (carried him) to his bed, and laid him down carefully. Simon grimaced, and mumbled about his head. Baz was sure he knew a spell that would minimize his hangover but he never claimed to be nice. 

“There you go,” Baz said, staring at Simon. “Not that you deserved that.”

Simon grabbed his wrist. A first Baz thought he was going to be sick again. Be then Simon caught his eyes, and Baz jerked back. Simon held on tighter, and his eyes were so open, and he was so vulnerable that Baz felt like he was intruding. Simon’s fingers slipped down so that was holding onto Baz’s hand. 

“Stay with me.” Simon whispered. His voice was wrecked, and he was looking at Baz with his big fucking blue eyes. Baz knew he should yank his arm away, and leave to the catacombs. Anyone might come knocking, and then what would he do; Wellbelove could burst in. Simon was drunk. But he never claimed to be a saint, either.

“Okay,” He whispered. Selfish, so selfish, so starved for Simon. Simon’s shoulders relaxed with relief, and he shuffled so Baz could lay down. “Just don’t fucking vomit on me.”

Baz slipped into the bed, and he was shocked at how warm Simon’s covers were. Simon looked so pleased, and another headline popped into Baz’s head. The Chosen One Sleeps With Heir of Pitch Family. He hesitated.

But then Simon reached out, and rested his hand on Baz’s chest. It wasn’t near his heart, or romantic at all; Baz was cold, and Simon’s hands were clammy. But Simon pulled him forward by his shirt. Baz’s heart was in his throat. He was suffocating from Simon.

“Snow,” Baz muttered. He was laying on his side staring at Simon. Laying down, they were the same height. “What are you doing?”

Simon slept in knots, and he wrapped a rope so tightly around Baz, that not even a pirate could untangle them. Simon slammed his head of curls under Baz’s chin, causing Baz to bite his tongue - fucker. He wrapped his legs around Baz’s thighs, and gripped onto Baz’s shirt as if he was Simon’s lifeline. Baz was too shocked to be mad about his tongue. 

“Snow.” Baz repeated. It was barely a whisper, and his voice was gone. He could feel Simon’s breath on his neck. Simon shifted, and Baz jerked away; he felt a burning against his chest. “Snow.” Baz hissed. 

Simon looked up at Baz, all doe eyed through his lashes, then down at his cross. It was resting between their chests, burning through Baz’s shirt. Baz hissed through his teeth, and squeezed Simon’s hips - when had his hands fallen on his hips?

Simon grabbed the cross, and yanked it off. He tossed it over to Baz’s side of the room. Baz opened his mouth to say something, but Simon jerked forward, slamming their lips together. Baz couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. 

It wasn’t romantic, but nothing about the moment was. It was rough, biting, pushing, over heating. Baz was gripping Simon’s hip, and his other hand was digging into Simon’s shoulder. Simon kept his hands in between their chests, his nails stinging Baz’s skin. Simon kept bumping his nose against Baz, and Baz was trying desperately not to knick Simon with his teeth. 

Simon was burning hot, and made small breathy gasps. Baz titled his head, and their foreheads pressed together. He was sure his lips would be swollen, and that Simon would have small bruises on his hips; but he never said he wasn’t fucked up. And he knew Simon had just vomited minutes ago, but he was a solid weight in Baz’s arms. He’d kiss him until he died of lack of oxygen before he let go. 

Simon pulled away, but he immediately pressed into Baz’s neck. Dragging his lips over his pulse, and dragging his hands over Baz’s shoulders, biceps. He gripped Baz’s wrists, and dragged Baz’s arms tighter around Simon. Baz hissed when Simon scraped his teeth over his neck. 

“Snow.” He huffed, a mantra,the only word he couldsay. Simon sucked, and bit, and Baz was sure he was dying. His mind couldn’t focus, and he couldn’t even bother to be embarrassed at the sounds he was making. He moaned, then bit his lip to muffle the noise.

Honestly, Simon wasn't a great kisser, or hickey giver (he was also still drunk, and sloppier than a dog drinking water). But he was Simon. Golden and tangled curls, bright eyes, and just as much fight as Baz. And even though it was a more of a short, messy kiss than make out, he had stolen Baz's breath.

“What?” Simon breathed against his neck. They were both breathing heavy, and Baz’s hands were locked over his back. His skin was on fire, and he could almost feel the smoke burning his lungs, and stinging his eyes. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Simon’s nose wrinkled, and he looked up at Baz. “I’m pr’sure they call this snogging.”

“Yes,” Baz sighed. “But why are you doing that with me?”

“Because you make me feel safe.”

Baz froze. He expected a lot of shit from Simon. He had expected because it was convenient, he was drunk, and Baz wasn’t that bad looking. He had expected a shrug, maybe even a prank, because he honestly wouldn’t put it past Simon to lead someone on (he didn’t put it past himself, either). But safe?

He felt the ropes knot at his stomach. He felt the ropes wrap around his throat, and choke the life out of him. 

“What?” He said. He wasn’t even sure if Simon heard him. Simon shifted closer.

Simon sighed. He wrapped his arms around Baz’s neck. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” The words flew out of his mouth before he could process the meaning, and he watched them float away. He felt a warmth spread through his veins, and his shoulders relaxed. His arms felt right. Simon fit him like he was meant to sleep against Baz’s chest. Baz stopped worrying. 

Simon took shelter in his arms, and Baz took shelter in his warmth. His eyes drifted closed, and he felt Simon smile against his collarbone. Simon made him feel safe, too. And in a world where wars happened, and death was always at their doorstep, they latched on to anything concrete. Even if that happened to be a vampire, and the Chosen One.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!! First time writing mild smut, but I loved it too much not to post.


End file.
